


Treacherous Heart

by PumpkinButter



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Cheating, F/M, Hitting, Jealousy, Mild Blood, Not Pulling Out, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Very Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:29:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29811927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinButter/pseuds/PumpkinButter
Summary: You are in a committed relationship with one of the other men in the gang, but that has not stopped this growing attraction between you and Arthur. Weeks of small flirtations and longing looks come to a head one night, as drink has made Arthur bold...and you have just come back from a tryst in the woods with your lover.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 73





	Treacherous Heart

“Treacherous Heart”

_It may be the wrong decision, but_

_fuck it,_

_it’s mine._

_MDZ_

The camp at Shady Belle is still this time of night. Barefoot and wearing only your chemise, you crack open the double doors of the main house, your shoes and clothes bundled in your arms. You had not roused anyone coming back, and intend to keep it that way. They had teased you, as they always did, when you and he escaped to the woods together. Perhaps you could return with a little less fuss.

A thud from the room beyond makes you turn; you hear muttered cursing as a large shadowy figure pulls himself to his feet by the newell post at the bottom of the stairs. “Arthur?” you whisper, conscious of the sleepers all around you, as you approach him near the steps.

He is drunk and unsteady on his feet; his shirt is open, and his suspenders hung around his hips. “Tripped in the dark,” he said, too loudly for the sleeping house.

You shush him quietly, carefully dropping your things, and take him by the shoulder, steering him toward the staircase. “Let’s get you to bed,” you say gently.

With a deftness that surprises you, his hands fall on your waist. You still, looking into his face, trying to search his features in the dark. He pulls you into him. “I looked for you,” he mumbles in your ear. “Tonight. I did.”

His lips find your neck, just behind your jaw, and he kisses you there with such warmth that for a moment you forget yourself, reflexively close your eyes and sigh at the contact. The next moment, you shake your head and pull away. “Come on. You’ve gotta get to bed now. C’mon.”

You coax him up the stairs and across the landing to his room. The lantern on the table near the map glowed brightly; you turn down the flame to dim it, glancing down to study the worn map on the table as you do, marked all over in Arthur’s fine hand. Arthur closes the door and leans heavily against it. “You ain’t dressed,” he observes, his eyes on your chemise.

“I was about to go to sleep,” you say, showing him a wry smile, “til I got caught up in trying to get drunks to get to bed.”

Arthur crosses the little room in two lilting strides and runs his hands over your hips. “You comin’ to bed with me, then?”

Your heart beats so hard you can feel it in every part of you. This was the culmination of weeks’ worth of glances and smiles, touches too lingering to be casual, stares that contained too much unspoken heat to be friendly. It had nothing to do with love; you had all the love you could want. This was something else, whatever magnetic force that drew two bodies together. You know the decent thing would have been to put a stop to it long ago. But no one ever accused you of being decent.

Nevertheless: “I shouldn’t,” you say.

“You should.” He lowers his mouth to yours with such carefree tenderness that you might think he’s done it a thousand times before. You taste the whiskey and cigarettes on his breath, and for a long moment, you are lost in his touch as he pulls your body flush with his. You touch his chest, fingers brushing bare skin, and only just resist the urge to run your hands over him, strong chest, and stomach and--

You break the kiss, step back away from him. “Come on, you lush,” you chide, more lighthearted than you feel. You sit him down on the bed and kneel to pull off his boots. The moment you straighten again his hands were upon you, and you sigh. “Arthur, wait…”

“Just say the word,” he says, “and I’ll stop.”

You feel the desire for him stirring and growing within you and soon it would be stronger than your exhaustion, your hesitation, your loyalty; far stronger even than the too-recent memory of another mouth on yours, the lingering ache from him inside you from just minutes ago. There is some inherent filth, you think, in kissing Arthur with lips still swollen from your lover’s kiss.

And yet…

Your resolve, already flimsy, already traitorous, melted like snow under his hands. You step forward, into the space between his knees. “You ain’t one for giving up, are you?”

“Never have been,” he replies. “Say you’ll stay with me.” He pulls you into him and leans his head up to look at you, his eyes intense though cloudy with drink, those beautiful lips parted…

“I’m--” You stop. You know what you will do, and you know what it makes you. But you’re unable to restrain yourself any longer. “Well, shit.” You kiss him hard, rocking into him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. In a moment he has you in his grasp, strong arms pulling you off your feet and onto the bed with him, laying you down, moving over you. 

He touches you, everywhere, kneading handfuls of flesh, and kisses you with an awful, searing passion. You tear your lips from his to gasp--there is an intensity about the way he kisses you, touches you that is breathtaking, thrilling in the way that it borders on...anger?

You slip his shirt off his shoulders and grasp at his back, fingers scratching over his hard muscles.

“I looked for you,” he growls in your ear, “but you weren’t here.” He grinds into your hips, pressing his hardness against you, aching for relief. “They told me...where you’d gone.”

His mouth captured yours again, all tongue and teeth--biting, sucking, claiming. Claiming. His mouth and hands and his entire body is seeking to mark you, to earn you, as though he could sense or smell the recent touch of another man and was desperate to eradicate it.

You gasp for air when he next pulls away. “Holy shit,” you manage in a whisper. You see a flicker of triumph on Arthur’s face before he tears your chemise off over your head and then, without warning or preamble, enters you with two thick fingers. You stifle a moan at the sudden and brutal fullness. Your eyes flutter closed, and you move against him, grinding into his hand.

You feel his hot breath on your neck. “You’ve had another cock inside you tonight,” he growls, “but I’ll make sure you forget all about it.” He curls his fingers inside you and savors your helpless sigh before pulling out of you and undoing his trousers. He pulls his hard length from his clothes and leans over you, pressing his chest against yours. He kisses you, then seizes your bottom lip between his teeth. Your moans mingle with his in the air between you as he bites and sucks, moving his cock against you, slicking it between your folds. You buck against him, and in response he pulls hard at your lip.

“Ow!” You shove Arthur away by the shoulder. Your hand flies to your lower lip, and you flinch a little at the sting there. Your fingertips come away smeared with a drop of blood from where his teeth had broken the skin.

“Shit,” said Arthur. “Sorry, I--”

You slap him, a quick, sure strike of your open palm across his face. You don’t quite know why. Maybe it was to get even with him for manhandling you, or to make him cool down before he makes you bleed again. Maybe you’re angry at him, or at yourself, for falling into his bed so readily while a man who loved you slept somewhere else nearby.

His head snaps to the side when you hit him. For a moment you’re afraid he’ll be angry, throw you out, hit you back-- But when his eyes snap back to yours, you practically reel--you have never seen him look at you with such wild, unbridled lust.

The few seconds you hold each other’s gaze is like the last inch of a fuse on dynamite--afterwards, everything explodes, and everything around you was obliterated into nothingness.

In one brutal thrust he drives himself inside you to the hilt. You cry out, gripping his shoulders, nails digging deep, leaving a riot of crescent marks in his skin. Arthur gives you only a moment of reprieve as he lifts your legs and settles them on his shoulders. When he draws out of you and thrusts in again, it is just as hard and twice as deep and you are nearly folded in half before him, and it is the fullest you have ever felt.

He begins to drill into you at a brutal pace, flesh smacking savagely against flesh. You moan helplessly and reach behind you to grip the iron headboard in your fists, anchoring yourself against the breakneck speed he was keeping. This was _fucking_ , the wild and animalistic giving and taking of pleasure, the ancestor to all sex, the savage root of it, hearkening back to when there was only _need-_ -the need to fill, and be filled.

You have the presence of mind to hear the obscene cacophony you two make--the squeak of the old mattress springs, the low thud of the bedframe striking the wall with his every thrust, your poorly stifled moans and cries of ecstasy, Arthur’s grunts and gasps as he pounds relentlessly into you. You wonder who could hear you--John and Abigail in the room across the hall? The entire second floor? The entire house? The entire camp, watching the noises on the wind from the room’s missing window? Could _he_ hear them, dreaming or half-awake?

As your thoughts are consumed with the intensity of your pleasure, there is less and less room for worry. Arthur does not relent for a moment and the constant savage pounding, his cock reaching deep inside of you, is almost more than you can bear. You feel your climax building in your core and as you get close your cries become high, quick, and keening.

Arthur tangles one hand in your hair and the other moves between you, fingers massaging the nerves at your center, pushing you toward orgasm. “That’s it, girl,” he whispers, voice strangled with lust. “Come for me. Scream for me.”

You come undone around him, letting out a stuttering, strangled cry as you lose control utterly. Your walls clench hard around him and your body shakes. “Fucking hell,” you hear him mutter as he slams into you almost hard enough to hurt. His pace stammers at last as his own climax comes upon him; he grunts as he crashes into you, spending himself inside you, before collapsing onto your chest, trembling limbs entwining with yours as you lay, buzzing and breathless, still struck dumb by the desperate ferocity of him...and of you.

He slips out of you and gathers you into his arms, rearranges you on the bed so you lay on your side, his chest warm and solid against your back, arms wrapped around you, hands lazily stroking your breasts, your stomach. You feel the touch of his lips on your neck, sweet now, as though to prove he could.

What was worse, you wondered vaguely--the _after_ , when you would step back out into the world with a secret to face the man who had told you he loves you; or _now_ , the in-between time, when the heat of passion had passed and you were not quite sure to whom your treacherous heart belonged?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first published fic ever, so I'm very excited and very frightened. Please let me know what you think!


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